


clean.

by sleepywoods



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: M/M, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepywoods/pseuds/sleepywoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All work and no play makes Felix a dirty boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clean.

**Author's Note:**

> the summary started as a joke and i. couldn't help it. brought to you by my long nights of transcribing pan's "woosh" sounds when he teleports.
> 
> the prompt was: panlix + skinny dipping/swimming  
> i'm still accepting prompts here: http://skullrocks.tumblr.com/post/80411502100

Felix is always last to bathe. And it’s not because he likes to delay what seems to be the most ceremonious event in Neverland (second only to the night following the welcoming of new recruitments) - on the contrary, he is quite clean compared to the majority of the boys on the island. No, the fact is, it’s Felix who has to remind the lost boys that, even on Neverland, they should bathe once in a while. It’s not so much the odor, the dirt or the sweat that is the issue — though, yes, it does play a big part on his long list of issues with boys who hasn’t bathed in days — so much he worries for the cuts, the gashes and exposed flesh that comes with Pan’s games.

 

Felix has to help them wash themselves clean in order to properly treat and bandage them, save themselves a week of fevers and infections that can lead to dismemberment and worse. Stays from the beginning of the bathing sessions to the end, because if he  _doesn’t_ , then the boys try to cheat their way out of it. They don’t know how to take advantage of his kindness because that’s just how boys are. Boys take things for granted, and he understands.

 

Even Felix had, once, but he’s since grown away (not up; they don’t grow up) from that mentality.

 

It was back during his first year on the island, and he was alone with another boy, shaking and shuddering and praying to any spirit or mythical creature that might’ve helped him still under the warm, firm hands. Felix’s arms folded over each other, his fingers clenched around his biceps tightly, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill of the water below him or the hands on his back. The boy behind him had laughed about it; said that Felix looked more along the lines of plucked chicken than beast.

 

“Hey, fresh meat, keep still!” The displeasure in Rufio’s voice was palpable, and Felix could only bite back a hiss as the mushed herbs drag along his cut. Rufio was seated comfortably on the rocks behind him, trousers rolled up to his knees to keep them from getting wet and his feet submerged into the water. Felix’s back was facing him, snug between Rufio’s legs, giving him a nice view of the design he’d left on Felix’s back. “You’re only gonna hurt yourself more if you keep jerkin’ around!”

 

Truthfully, Felix wasn’t at all used to it. He wasn’t accustomed to the idea of someone helping him, much less when he was so new; too used to treating his own wounds and bruises. But Rufio had been a perfect boy to counter his reservations about the island. He helped cue Felix into the ‘rules’ and the games, and a lot of that, Felix had found, involved clubs and swords, bows and bolts. Felix was lucky enough that the blade Rufio used hadn’t been laced with dreamshade, but that was just probably him being merciful, much to his distress. There was something about the island that makes the least ambitious boy want to  _win_ , and if he were to lose, he’d like to have been  _utterly_  defeated. It seemed like a cop-out otherwise.

 

This time, Felix had lost, and his price was a cut dragging from the top of his right shoulder blade and down toward his side, but Rufio was delighted that he hadn’t been poisoned.  _“But! If you leave it be, it might become infected and that’s almost bad as dreamshade,”_  had been Rufio’s rather convincing reason for coming to the isolated cave.  _“So c’mon. I know just the spot!”_

 

Felix was quiet, mostly because nothing wanted to come out of his mouth aside from gasps and grunts each time he felt the hand press and rub over the open wound. It was a lot easier when he did this himself; at least he knew what to expect. Right now, the only thing he knew, or try to know, was how to be was grateful. When Rufio’s hand went to scoop up the remainder of the medicine, Felix managed a quiet, “Thanks.”

 

It earned him another laugh and a  _slap_  against his scar. Felix bit his lips, flinching. “Oh, my bad,” he heard Rufio say following quieter laughter. “But it’s no biggie. Just know that if you keep this up, they’re gonna eat you alive. Peter likes his boys ruthless. More beast than boy, really.”

 

Felix’s brows knit tightly. “So why are you helping me?”

 

“Someone’s gotta. Trust me, you’re not gonna meet any boy nicer than me here. So, instead of asking stupid questions, take advantage of it, rook!” Rufio replied with a splash to Felix’s face.

 

It has been two centuries and some odd decades, and Rufio hasn’t once lied to him. No boy was ever quite nice like Rufio.

 

_(No, I know what you’re thinking. Nice is no way to describe Peter Pan, not even for Felix._

_Case in point.)_

 

When it’s all said and done, the boys are called to bed, neatly bandaged and  _clean_ , while Felix becomes more worn, dirty and sweaty than when he’d started. But it means that he can utilize the springs Rufio had taken him all those years ago, by his lonesome, which he prefers. Like their little secret.

 

Felix undoes the strings holding his cloak together, throwing it to the dryer part of the ever-dripping cave, works off the belt and sheathed blade. Takes off his vest made of hide and his patchy, the hack-sewn shirt beneath that. Kicking off boots, red trousers, socks and what-have-yous, until the only thing left on him are the necklaces and bracelets he doesn’t remember getting and the feather attachments in his hair (which he does remember; he’d gotten them from Rufio). The clothes, in a pile like that, makes him realize they’re probably due for a wash, but he doesn’t have to concern himself with that yet. Has to put himself first sometimes (something else Rufio had taught him).

 

There’s only really night and day in Neverland. He can’t remember sunsets and sunrise; Felix is usually too occupied, too transfixed on either Pan or a disobedient boy to pay mind at the sun’s position in relation to the horizon beyond the shore. Judging by how tired he grows, whether it be the wear of daylight or simply fatigue, he likes thinking it’s what he remembers to be past midnight. But inside the cave, the moon, so unnaturally large, reflects upon the ever-moving ripples of the water. Felix is always well-prepared, though; he’d brought with him a lit torch as well, in case the moon wasn’t going to do it for his eyes, but the combination of the two lights — natural and unnatural — brightens the cave significantly. Much better than the times he’d been in the cave with Rufio.

 

Felix sits on the edge of the concrete-like rocks - the cool, wet surface promises that the water below is just as chilly, which is a welcomed thought after another torturously hot day. He stretches long, lanky legs, tests the water and tries to remember the wonder he’d felt when he’d first entered this cave. Wonders if he’d felt anything else apart from grateful and concern.  _“This is a jungle. If anything feels suspiciously cold, it’s probably Peter,”_  he remembers Rufio advising,  _“At which point, don’t stop what you’re doing.”_

 

Peter. Rufio had called Pan by his first name.

 

Is that all Felix remembers  _thinking_  at that time?

 

Then, as though on cue, a chill down his spine and he can’t tell if it’s the water or what but it’s suspicious enough that he doesn’t stop what he’s doing - not like he’d been doing much. The slightest hitch in his breath being the only betrayal of his forced calm.

 

The fingers on his back is cool, and yes, Rufio hasn’t lied again, that it belongs to Pan. Pan, standing behind him, and Felix doesn’t dare turn to face him - rippled reflection in the water can’t give Felix any feel of what his expression might be, what he might be thinking of him. Pan traces his thumb along the scar tissue of the cut his long lost friend had carved unto his skin, and Felix wishes he hadn’t waited a moment too long to jump into the water. Only Pan can make him feel more exposed than he already is, when he doesn’t want to be.

 

“That’s new,” Pan observes. It’s the first time Pan has seen the scar  is what Felix derives from such an accusation, because on the contrary, the scar’s at least a century year old.

 

“It came with the welcome package,” Felix replies, and that’s the best way he can correct Pan without _correcting_  him. Pan doesn’t exactly pay attention to new recruits unless he believes the recruit requires an extra push. It makes sense. “I like it.”

 

There’s mirth in Pan’s voice when he says in turn, “What silly thing to like. Thought he would have gone for something more… magnificent.” Pan is usually in on everything, but how he’d known the scar had come from Rufio is something Pan will have him speculate for as long as he’s young. “I can do much, much better, Felix.”

 

His tone doesn’t betray a threat from a challenge, so ominous that Felix begins to imagine the sound of his dagger unsheathing, starts feeling a phantom drag of its sharp along Rufio’s scar. Gives him the goosebumps, but Felix’s aware that a lot of what Pan says and does is to draw some sort of reaction out of the people he talks to. He figures that would make the conversation more interesting than it is.

 

Idly, Felix reaches behind him, scratching up the tickle Pan’s touches has left behind when he withdraws, then brings it back to his lap.. “It looked better when it hasn’t healed,” Felix says with a hint of a smile.

 

A reply like that,  _more beast than boy_ , pleases Pan, and he chuckles, lowering himself onto his knees as he drapes himself over Felix’s bare back. Pan’s arms slings over his shoulders in a lazy embrace, mouth pressed hotly against his ear. “Should be more careful about tempting me, Felix. I happen to look great in green.”

 

 _Green with envy_ , which is almost funny to Felix if the thought isn’t so positively terrifying.

 

“Anyway, back to what you’re doing.” Right. He’d almost forgotten. The warmth leaves him when Pan slides those arms back, fingers clenching over either of his shoulders, and if Felix had been relaxed enough, perhaps he could have guessed how Pan would ensure that he does go on. But no, there’s too much going on his head (why would Pan be jealous?), and before he can even register that both of Pan’s palms are pressed against either of his shoulder blades, he’s shoved into the water.

 

This is Pan, though. It isn’t so much a shove as it is a  _fling_  into the deeper end of the springs.

 

He chokes on a mouthful of fresh spring water as he struggles to find his footing, and when he emerges to the surface (standing at full height, the water barely passes abdomen), there the boy king stands, completely bare save for his wrist braces and suddenly he isn’t annoyed anymore. He runs a hand over his face, clearing as much drippage from his hair and as he treads. Pan is never seen without his clothes, and whatever he wears is always the same as what it is the next day. Felix likes to imagine that it’s his own shield and armor, his clothes, but even with it completely gone, Pan appears invulnerable still.

 

His body is without a single, noticeable scar, save for the one along his arm. Pan had said once that it’s been there for as long as he remembers, and nothing further of it.  

 

“Joining in?” Felix asks tentatively.

 

“Even better.”  Pan’s smirking, and Felix feels the draft of air again when he disappears and reappears right before him. His first response is a step back, dumbfounded, and Pan presses a hand against his chest and guides him further back, until his back is flat against the cave wall.

 

“I want you,” he starts, shoving a wet cloth into his hand before he then turns around, looking over his shoulder to meet Felix’s gaze, “To wash me as you do them.”

 

Felix has followed Pan’s orders for too long, doesn’t even allow a second’s thought as he mindlessly bringing the cloth over Pan’s shoulder and scrubs lightly. The more he does, the more the boy before him leans against him, until he’s no choice but to start washing his arm then chest. Wanting to move further back, but the wall prevents him.

 

Pan’s cants his head to the side, elongating his neck and Felix instantly laps the cloth over, then the other, and he scoffs. “So diligent. I can’t possibly imagine how you find any merit in doing this.”

 

Felix smiles. “Someone has to.”

 

“So who takes care of you, Felix?” Pan’s turning around, taking the cloth back from Felix, so close that the taller boy has to remind himself that Pan is the cold, not warmth.

 

He really doesn’t have to think about it, but he pretends to, watching Pan’s veined hand drag the cloth up and down Felix’s chest, and he can’t help but smile again that it’s perhaps the first time he’s ever done that for anyone.

 

“You do.”

 

Pan grins a wicked grin, the cloth now dragged down further and further down from his collarbone, to his chest, his stomach _and_ —

 

Felix inhales sharply. “Peter—”

 

“All work and no play makes Felix a dirty boy,” Pan decides, “Let’s play.”


End file.
